Cloud 9 is always touted as
the perfect place to be.
But where's the place for things that are
less than heavenly?
The moderate joy of raisin bran,
a morning's smooth commute—
I'd only need Cloud 2 or 3
for puppies that are cute.
A 4 or 5 might do for coffee,
books that I have read.
Cloud 6 or 7's getting up there—
college degrees, fresh bread.
8, for me, would be the zenith—
babies, weddings too,
that's the cloud I'd use to show
the joy I feel with you.
Not that you don't deserve a 9
it's just that, in my way,
I'd always keep 9 in reserve
for some impossible day.
And yet, one day, I'll take your hand,
one moment, close to death,
I'll think "there's nothing else," and whisper
"9" with my last breath.